


Keep the Peace (with some peas)

by Krizlynn



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fights, Fluff, I kind of try-harded for this story lmao, Law is Sanji’s boss and he’s epic, M/M, Mafia AU, Organized Crime, Romance, Sanji’s a chef as usual, Yakuza, Zoro’s part of the mafia uwu, drug selling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krizlynn/pseuds/Krizlynn
Summary: Who knew the new restaurant Sanji worked at was the main base of some mafia group?What’s worse, who knew the person Sanji hated first-meeting—Roronoa Zoro—was the leader of said mafia group?Sanji didn’t.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 84
Kudos: 247





	1. Thermodynamics

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at updating this btw.
> 
> Moving on. Readers, the summary is ass, but just—hold on, for me, pls. I needed a lil break from publishing Get Over It (major writer’s block lmao) so like... new au hello??? 
> 
> WARNING: there are a lot of words. And maybe you’ll get bored but like. I swear it’s worth it? Perhaps? Hopefully? I feel as though this story is more episodic than an actual full blown plot with a main conflict and stuff. It’s mostly me indulging in Zoro as a mafia boss and Sanji as a chef ehe

IF THERE WAS ONE thing Sanji understood about science class thermodynamics, it was that without a constant input of energy, all existing material would gradually enter a state of disorder. He could see that exact law in front of him, in the form of a kitchen he was new to. With dishes, pots, and cutlery in random places, questionable stains sticking the floor and chefs that seemed  ever so happy  to be in that exact place at that exact time, Sanji couldn’t put a word  other than “disorder” to the whole image. 

“Welcome to the crew,” the dark haired man, the one who had been his interviewer, said. 

Sanji just took in another eyeful of the view and held back the click of his tongue. 

Two weeks ago was what brought him to that current position. After working at the Baratie for the better part of his life (read, the years from when he was 10 until a week ago when he turned 25), Zeff finally thought it was time for him to haul ass. He hated the idea at first, but after reconsidering and coming to the conclusion that  hey, it wouldn’t be so bad leaving these assholes—“ _assholes_ ” said in a fond tone—he looked for a new job. 

He’d heard of The New World before. It was a fancy restaurant by day and a club by night, its appearance in their city being only a year ago. It had received hype for its design, night life, and booze, but Sanji’d been hearing recently (and seeing from the reviews) that the food was nothing to look twice at. He thought he could change that. Knew that he could, actually, so he applied for the job and went through the tedious process of hiring. There was no particular reason he picked the restaurant over any other, but if he really had to pick one it might’ve been the fact that he wouldn’t mind being a bartender at the same time as a chef, and the design of the place  was nice. It gave off an expensive feel, a mixture of soft gold lighting and darkness, plush couches in the booths and dark wood chairs lining the tables, not to mention the fucking fountain at the entrance. 

It was almost insulting to Sanji after seeing how well-taken-care-of the whole place was, from the welcome mat to the toilet he’d used earlier, when he stepped into the kitchen. 

His interviewer,  _Trafalgar_ , he finally remembered the name, told him that the previous chef was fired because of his inadequate cooking. Sanji hoped it was also because of how badly organized the bastard was. 

“Alright,” Sanji began, lifting his belongings up to what seemed like the only available space on the counter. The day hadn’t even begun and the place already seemed like a mess. Sanji squinted at the name tags of the other chefs, noting that although the place looked God awful, there were a good 4 chefs and a few busy-bodies. Their roles he didn’t know yet, but he spotted the sous-chef easily. “We’re cleaning this place up before I do the fun stuff, like destroying your menu.” 

From their expressions, Sanji could tell that it’d take a bit for him to become liked—if at all. He wasn’t one to sweet talk cooking. 

He’d also come to realize later on that, perhaps, becoming this kitchen’s executive chef was simultaneously the worst and best decision he’d ever made.

-

A month passed, and Sanji got his first raise. It was expected, though it wouldn’t seem like it with the amount of complaining the other chefs did on behalf of Sanji. He was either too harsh or too commanding, too much of a perfectionist or too much of a prude. Sanji just couldn’t help it. After working with Zeff—the biggest prude in the entire universe, he swore—he slowly started getting the same habits. An out-of-place spice shaker and an unclean pot weren’t big deals to some, but Sanji made sure that the people who made mistakes wouldn’t make them again. It was all in the work of making the kitchen at The New World a better place. 

And, he was proud to admit it, it did become a better place. If his raise wasn’t a good enough pointer to that, the new reviews acknowledging the actual “restaurant” part of their name  _was_.

Over the course of 30 days, Sanji had come to appreciate his job a little more, now that people actually knew what they were doing (the first week was hell on earth). Also, he really,  really  appreciated the ladies. Especially Nami and Robin.  _Oh ,  and Vivi._ _And Viola. Can’t forget sweet Rebecca either. Nojiko._

They were servers at their place, as well as front-door greeters and bar-tenders. Sanji had gotten to know all of them, but was closer to Nami and Robin simply because of their roles. The bar was in fact next to the kitchen door, and whenever Sanji strolled out when orders were coming in slow, he’d have a conversation or two with one of them. It was a treat watching them convince men to drink more alcohol in that special way of theirs. There were also days where he got to fulfill his urge to mix some drinks when they got short-staffed behind the bar, making things that weren’t even generally allowed. 

Through all the time at his restaurant, Sanji started noticing the sketchy things that sometimes happened in the corner of his eye. People getting led to secluded rooms by Robin, pass the VIP door that Sanji never had the permission to go to. Words that seemed like code which would make Nami hand them a certain something while Sanji pretended to be busy looking elsewhere. He never pried, but he didn’t want to stay clueless either, so he kept his eyes observant and his hearing sharp. There was no doubt that the place was some sort of meetup for groups, but Sanji didn’t know how “bad” the groups were. Were they city-gangs or international mafias? It was hard to find out when he couldn’t ask questions. 

Either way, he just did his job and observed.

It was on a busy-as-fuck Saturday night that Sanji was helping out at the front, having enough staff in the kitchen that knew what they were doing and being short-staffed out front with a sudden cold going around. He’d had experience being a server back at Baratie as well, so it was in his nature to sweet talk ladies and compliment guys to wrack up tips. He was also light on his feet, but the spilling of soup was unavoidable when he didn’t notice the presence of what seemed to be a brick wall behind him. 

The man who’d bumped into him (yes, it was the man’s fault and not his), was simultaneously the biggest presence in the room and the least noticeable person there. Sanji hadn’t heard a noise behind him—granted it was busy and loud, but he could usually tell when there was someone behind him—and this fact told him that the man probably wasn’t normal, if he needed to be walking eerily silent like that. 

When Sanji turned to apologize, however, the attitude that he saw ticked him off. It was like the man hadn’t even tried to dodge Sanji, standing there and staring down at his soup-stained suit, hands in his pockets with a disdained look on his face. Some dudes, lackeys probably, attempted to clean off the man’s suit, but he stopped them with a hand, pulling on the soaked front of his shirt with an unreadable expression. Sanji hated people like that, his old Baratie self included. And usually, he’d have no problem starting a fight with bastards who walked expecting people to move for them. 

Good thing he hadn’t changed one bit. 

“Sorry, I don’t have 360 degrees vision,” Sanji bent to pick up the bowl that thankfully hadn’t broken on the carpeted floor, “So I couldn’t have avoided you as easily as you could’ve avoided me,” Sanji apologized—well, “apologized”. 

The man looked up from his suit, piercing grey eyes making Sanji’s pulse quicken when their gazes locked. Sanji felt his skin prickle and then suddenly sensed the gaze of many, settled right onto his figure. It was at that point that he realized some of their regulars were probably working for whoever the hell this man was, and they weren’t here for just a good dinner. 

The one with the most oppressive gaze—standing right in front of him—could evidently sense the challenge in Sanji’s voice, and the chef swore he saw the ghost of a smirk on his face. 

“Is that so?” the hand that was pinching his shirt away from his skin lowered, landing on the hilt of one of the three swords near his waist, other remaining in his pocket.  That was only another sign that this restaurant was strange in more ways than not, because what restaurant let someone bring in three whole swords? “ Maybe you shouldn’t be backing up with a tray of soup held up in the first place,” he rebutted, and Sanji grit his teeth. No matter how outnumbered, Sanji still felt the fight in him rise.

(Not his fault the lady changed her mind last second and wanted their clam chowder instead. He took, what, two steps backwards? How was he supposed to know some bastard was going to walk right into his back? And also, it was common knowledge that everything looked fancier held with one arm to the side.)

“Just doing my job,  _sir_ ,” Sanji nearly spat, then he glanced down at the man’s shirt, knowing it would take a full month’s pay check to get a new one, “Would you like a napkin with that?”

“With what, my ruined mood?” he questioned. It was almost humorous. 

“I’m afraid it’s up to you to—“ 

“What’s going on here?” a familiar voice questioned, and Sanji saw from his peripherals Trafalgar, unwilling to get the other man out of his sights in case he got sucker-punched in the face. Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried after his shenanigans at the restaurants. “Sanji, you’re causing a scene.”

“So Sanji’s your name,” the other bastard stated. 

The blond eyed the apparent swordsman, and then relaxed his shoulders a little, sighing. Now that Law was here he couldn’t keep up his bitchy attitude. It wasn’t that he was hiding from trouble, but even he knew he sometimes got childish when he got offended, and he’d rather his employer not see that side of him. 

“Sanji’s the name,” he admitted, “I’ll go grab a cloth.” 

“No need, that won’t help anything.” Cue Sanji nearly snapping at the man again.

“Boss! I’ll grab you another shirt from the car!” one of the lackeys exclaimed, and when the man didn’t object the little guy ran out. 

“Sorry about that, Roronoa,” Law started, “I’ll take you to your table myself after you change. It isn’t so often that you decide to eat out here instead of in our rooms. We’ll give you the best service tonight, and if there’s anything we can do to compensate for the shirt, feel free to tell us.” 

_So he is  important_, Sanji thought, bending over to grab the tray that had rolled a meter or so away. His fingers were sticky with soup and he had a fucking mess to clean up.  Who the hell decided to have carpet floors in this section? 

As he picked up the tray he gave another sigh, because the intrusive gazes from earlier were leaving him, now that “Roronoa” wasn’t compromised or whatever. Sanji noted that his fingers ached just a little and he knew it was because of the spill. He had to admit that having the soup spill on one’s front should hurt. It was steaming hot after all, and though it didn’t make initial direct contact with skin, even through a shirt it must hurt. If it made Sanji’s fingers tingle from a few drops, a whole bowl-full would be shitty. 

“Viola my dear,” Sanji spoke once he’d reached the kitchen again, “I’m sorry but could you bring clam chowder to table 15?” As he looked back over to where the table laid, he made eye contact with Roronoa, and even from that distance he could feel the electricity of his gaze. “I have a mess to clean up.” 

-

Sanji didn’t meet or hear of Roronoa for a week after running into him that night. He got a light scolding from Law, more of an info-lecture than anything else. Law told him that Zoro, the man’s first name, basically owned the restaurant, and that getting into a fight with him nearly guaranteed getting beaten up in an alleyway. Sanji had  seen him once or twice, when he glanced out of the kitchen door window and spied Robin leading a head of green to the VIP section of the place. Otherwise, it seemed that his appearance at the normal part of the place was as scarce as Law made it seem. 

It was for the better, because Sanji felt that no one ever rubbed him quite the wrong way. Something about him made Sanji want to start fights. Maybe it was his unnatural appearance; his green hair and golden earrings, not to mention the three swords at his hip. Or maybe it was the cocky feeling that he just  _exuded_ , like he was sending a message to everyone that he could and would beat them at whatever hand they played. 

But no matter how good it was that Sanji wasn’t encountering the man, it was evident that they’d have a run-in so long as he worked there. 

The next time it happened was at the back of the restaurant. Sanji was in need of a smoke break, and it was natural to step out so that the smell wouldn’t infiltrate the food. The sight he received from the setting sun’s light was, of course, of the familiar green head, and the part he hadn’t expected was the scene of Zoro sheathing his sword with two bodies in front of him. 

However, when the door clicked behind him Zoro turned faster than Sanji could even blink, sword halfway pulled out again until he realized who it was. 

It took Sanji a second to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t nearly as surprised as he expected himself to be. But he supposed it was to be expected, because he knew fishy things happened at the restaurant and he knew Zoro was some part of it, whether it be in the middle of it all or not. He wasn’t expecting to see dead bodies today, but it wasn’t a sight that he was new to, unfortunately. 

When he decided he should say something, it took another couple of seconds to think about what to say. 

“Scared?” And yes, his first words were to provoke the man with two very limp bodies behind him.

Zoro scoffed, pressing his sword back into its scabbard. “You tell me.” 

“This,” Sanji waved at the bodies, “Is not what I consider scary.” He whipped out a cigarette as he spoke, lighter coming out seconds later. “What I consider scary is the fact that you’re doing it in such an open area. Have you no sense of publicity?” 

“I don’t give a shit about publicity.” 

Sanji hummed, flicking the lighter and igniting a flame. “You’re right. You don’t seem the type.” 

The blond could see Zoro staring at him as he lit the end of his stick, dragging in a breath after a moment. 

“So, what. You cleaning that up?” Sanji questioned, “I have our dish-washer boy coming out in about five to empty the trash.” 

“Five is plenty. And no, I won’t be cleaning this up.” 

“Ah, so you do one part but not the other. Earlier I expected you to be more of the boss, one that does none of the dirty work, and then I thought you were a lackey who followed orders to kill but now... Not so sure.” 

“I do what I want,” Zoro stated, “I don’t take orders from anyone, and I don’t do what I don’t want to do.” 

The bottom curve of the sun was nearing the horizon as they spoke, and Sanji realized that the shadows in the alleyways were getting larger. Zoro looked more sinister now than he did moments ago, but it didn’t phase him. 

“So,” Sanji started, “You  are at the top.” 

“You could say so.” 

“Zoro _nii-chan_!” A voice came from the end of the alley, followed by two sets of feet that came running around the corner, “We assume you’re done—! You! Who are you!?” 

The two lackeys from last time pulled out their swords at the sight of Sanji, and Sanji glanced at Zoro to see what he would do. The man said nothing as they charged at Sanji. 

_ So that’s how it is.  _

Sanji tapped the tip of his shoe on the ground just as the blade of a sword got near him. Seconds later he’d kicked the handle out of the first man’s hand, sword glinting in the setting sun’s light as it flew up. He then spun and landed a roundhouse kick that sent the first into the one lagging behind, listening to their yells as they landed on a heap on the ground. They didn’t look so different from the bodies Zoro had dealt with, only they were showing much less blood. 

Sanji turned to Zoro, meeting his gaze that’d already been there and waiting for the man to attack him. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was getting into, but Law’s warnings flashed in his mind—and he was sure that if Zoro was as strong as he seemed, he wouldn’t come out of this one with a mere beating. He’d most likely end up in pieces. 

Zoro didn’t move a muscle, and Sanji did the same, on his alert because he wasn’t about to lose his life to a mere mishap. When the two lackeys stood again Zoro simply turned, walking in the way the other two came from. 

“Johnny, Yosaku. The bodies.” 

They glanced repeatedly between Sanji and Zoro, but soon after scrambled to dispose of the bodies. Sanji heard the doorknob behind him turn then, and he pressed his back to it, resisting against the force from the inside. He stared at Zoro’s shadow and his back as he left, and only when the lackeys turned the corner did he let off the pressure, stepping to the side and smiling when the dishwasher boy flew through the door. 

“Ow, what the—“ he turned and saw Sanji, “Oh! Chef!” The boy quickly composed himself, standing straight and holding the trash bag tight in anxiousness. “You were on break?”

“I guess you could say so,” Sanji answered, tapping the crust off his cigarette, “But I’m more tired now than before.” 

“Huh? Why?” 

“No reason. Good work,” Sanji dropped his cigarette and stomped on it, looking once more at the end of the alley before he pulled open the door again. “Make sure you throw away the trash well.” The dead bodies that he’d seen being thrown into bags and into the bin right near them flashed in his mind. Grey eyes and glinting swords.

“Uh... yessir?”

There was really no doubt now that Sanji was going to get himself into a mess. He could sense it, even from miles away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how was it?? 
> 
> I feel like I move so fast but pls understand this was almost a one shot at one point but then all of a sudden it became too long and is now like 8 chapters long... yeah my bad. Leave some feedback for me? Perhaps? 
> 
> I hope you liked reading that as much as I liked writing it ehe
> 
> Also I’m kind of face palming right now because I just published this and then I saw a story with the same premise and kind of freaked out and almost cried cause I don’t wanna seem like a plagiarist but I also don’t wanna let go of this story so uh shit yeah. Yeah. And like the other story seems so thought-out and good and an actual story and I’m just sitting here like what even is the point of this story when it seems like I just pulled it outta my brain no thought smol pp. I can’t understand what I’m saying either I’m kinda distraught but yes! Hope you have a good day


	2. Straight from the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, Sanji ends up as Zoro’s personal server.

IF SANJI WAS BEING HONEST,  no one got under his skin like Roronoa Zoro did. Cocky, arrogant bastard he is, he’d been hanging around the normal part of the restaurant more than Law had mentioned previously. 

Somehow, even without interaction, Zoro always pissed him off. Whether it was making eye contact with him across the restaurant while drinking fine wine from the bottle ( _just—straight up! Lips on the rim of the bottle like it was no one’s business!_ ), or not treating the ladies with the amount of respect Sanji would have given them, Sanji always felt ticked off. He suspected that Zoro noticed those moments as well— _anyone_ would have, to be fair—because of how he glared nonstop. If he was living in an anime one could expect a red aura coming out from him every time he placed his eyes on Zoro. 

He, however, continued on with life. Sanji just did his job cooking, serving, making drinks, and anything else he got his hands on. He wouldn’t be lying if he said that he’d been enjoying his shifts more often now. It seemed that people finally got used to his berating and started to take it like they did back at the Baratie; with their own insults, jokes, or sarcasm. Of course they would fix the mistake within the next minute or few days, so Sanji started to grow fond of his workers, glad to have changed the desolate kitchen into what it is now. This brought him a reputation he didn’t know would come with the job. People on the floor started to notice him as the chef and would compliment him as he served people, and even in the streets he was getting regards. It could have been because of the social media pictures Law posted to promote their newly improved kitchen (with Sanji performing some impressive cooking feat in each picture) that made people recognize him, or maybe word just spread across the street. 

Either way, those events all led up to him being subjected to Zoro’s ways. 

“Sanji-kun, they want you out front,” Nami said after popping her head through the kitchen door. The mentioned man looked up from his soup stock, making eye contact with Colby (his favourite sous-chef) and gesturing to the soup with his head. Once he’d had his spot replaced he went up to Nami, smiling at her. 

“And why,  _mademoiselle,_ do they need me? If it’s to keep you company I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Sanji stated, slipping out of the kitchen door after Nami did the same. 

“Not sure of the complete reason, but I know it’s because Zoro requested it from Law.” 

“I—what?” Sanji questioned, and then he swept his gaze across the place, not seeing the mosshead like he’d expected to.

“Don’t ask me.” 

Although he hesitated, he knew Law’s words were final, and that it might actually be a good thing that he was serving Zoro. It was both a chance to eavesdrop and show Zoro that he wasn’t just a dumbass that spilled soup everywhere. He still wasn’t over that first instance, and hadn’t had the chance to redeem himself before this. He decided that he’d best keep his anger in check this time around. 

“They’re in the first room over there,” Nami pointed to the VIP section of the restaurant, and Sanji’s interest as well as curiosity spiked tenfold. He’d never been over there before. Knew that it was always Nami or Robin dealing with the people behind those double doors. Now that he had a chance, however, he was going to take it. He said he wouldn’t pry, but what could a little eavesdropping and puzzle piecing do? It was best that he did know what was going on at this restaurant, being head chef and all. He could avoid doing shit that would get him in trouble with Trafalgar, though it was a little late to say he’d never done that before. 

So Sanji took off his apron, tossing it behind the bar before he adjusted his work suit. Call it pride or just pure egoism, but Sanji felt as if he couldn’t let Zoro think he was a slob. A few moments later he was pushing past the two large doors, surprised at how heavy they were compared to how they looked. Past the threshold, Sanji was faced with a hallway that progressively dimmed in lighting, floor draped with a red carpet that felt soft even under his shoes. There was another set of doors up ahead, and two men were standing at the ready. Most likely security for whatever illegal meetings they had here. 

“Name?” one of them questioned, and Sanji answered, wondering if he’d even be let in. Luckily for him it seemed that the two were informed, nodding as they opened the doors for him. 

Past that was a wide horizontal hallway, and Sanji realized that the restaurant was bigger than he expected. To be fair the restaurant’s exterior was always larger than Sanji thought it needed to be. This was why, apparently. 

There were several sliding doors along the hallway, and Sanji started noticing that back here it was more Japanese-styled than out there, bamboo pots decorating corners and sakura branches painted onto certain sections of the wall. He guessed that each of the other rooms were the same as the one he was currently knocking on, because he remembered Nami telling him it was the first room. What greeted him after being invited in was a small (for this restaurant) room, only one rectangle table close to the floor and mats to accompany it. Three box-shaped lights hung above the table, but Sanji’s first sight was of the painting that hung opposite from the door. It was no doubt now of Japanese origins, two ladies dressed in kimonos whispering to each other. It must’ve been some sort of joke for whoever decorated the room, as if depicting exactly what was going to happen in this space.

And then Sanji was pulling out his notepad, while doing so catching Zoro’s gaze to which the swordsman looked away after a couple of seconds. He felt his eyebrow twitch, wondering why he was specifically asked for and what the stare meant. Nonetheless he took a small step up to their table with his most professional smile on his face. He didn’t get too close in case it made him seem as if he was looming over the men sitting, waiting for them to finish their conversation.

While he did so he examined the old men that sat opposite to Zoro at the table. Sanji didn’t recognize them, but with one glance at their thousand dollar watches and suits, he could tell that they were of the same or higher standing than Zoro, whatever the man was. 

It made Sanji wonder why Zoro would request Sanji as their server if he was meeting with such important people. Perhaps it wasn’t his original thought—he thought Zoro was going to threaten him into secrecy, because last time he’d never done so and had to leave before dishwashing boy came out. But now... he wasn’t so sure. 

They finally placed their attention on Sanji. “Hi there, are you men ready to order?” 

“Your finest steak, blue. Soup first.” The man furthest away from him said without so much of a glance at him. Sanji’s lip threatened to pull downwards but he only tightened his smile. He could also tell that the two old men hadn’t even looked in their menu, if the neat pile of untouched leathers wasn’t indication of that. Nonetheless he scribbled it down, feeling a certain mosshead’s (new nickname) gaze on him. 

“And for you, sir?” Sanji questioned, ignoring Zoro’s stare completely as he addressed the other man. 

“Do you have bluefin tuna?” 

_Yup. Not even a glance at the menu._

It irked Sanji that the man expected them to have one of the most expensive fish just on hand for him to eat. 

“Unfortunately we don’t have that today, but if you’d like seafood we have coffin bay king oysters, served with our special—“

“You don’t have that  _today_? So if I came back tomorrow you’d have some?” the man cut Sanji off, and the blonde could feel himself slowly losing reign over his control. 

“Not necessarily, sir.” Sanji knew that if Law really tried, he could very well get his hands on some bluefish tuna. It was just a matter of whether or not Sanji was willing to even let that be allowed (because on  his watch, he wasn’t letting anyone near a fish of that calibre).

“So your answer is ‘no’, you mean,” the pretentious bastard said, and Sanji swallowed back his pride.

“You’re correct.” 

It was at that moment that a thought surfaced in his mind. The answer to  why Zoro had requested for him to serve them that day. The bastard knew exactly how they would treat the servers, and with that knowledge had asked for Sanji. 

The two old men shared a look, one that made Sanji feel as if he was placed back into high school in a group of judgemental teens, sharing words through facial expression. By now his hand was gripping the note pad until his knuckles turned white, because fuck, if he didn’t want to kick those men into the next life. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoro take a sip of his drink. There was the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

_ Bastard. _

“Then, I guess I’ll just have to have lamb, and salad as my appetizer,” he said, as if settling. Sanji was almost disappointed that they actually had lamb, which meant he couldn’t deny the man again. 

Once he scribbled the words onto the note pad, he finally turned to Zoro. 

“And you.” He wasn’t going to be calling Zoro any fancy names now, not after how obvious Zoro made it that he’d wanted to rile Sanji up. The chef felt as if he couldn’t back down from the challenge. 

“I’ll have the oysters, nothing else,” he spoke simply, and Sanji nearly pointed his nose to the sky, because that dish was one that he’d personally put on the menu despite their already sufficient variety. The dish he made and remade painstakingly to get Zeff’s approval and decided to implement here. 

“Alright, I’ll be back with your food in a moment.” He didn’t even give a smile as he turned and left, walking back the way he came at a leisurely pace. He was annoyed, but he wouldn’t entirely lose his cool just yet. 

The appetizers were finished quickly, the chef whipping up a greek salad and plating the soup of the day, which ended up being Autumn Vegetable Bisque. 

The first part of their meal passed without much of a ruckus, except Sanji knew he didn’t imagine it when bluefin tuna bastard gave a sour look after trying the salad. With people like that, Sanji knew they’d never be satisfied no matter what. 

When he came back to pick up their plates to get the entrée served, he heard the man closer to him remark, “Let’s hope whatever you have next was better than this  salad.” 

He ignored it, and like before walked at a normal pace, but the moment he put on his apron he started swearing under his breath, pulling out the ingredients he needed. 

“Sanji?” Colby questioned, evidently wondering why he looked about ready to kick a small child.

“No fucking way I’m letting those pretentious bastards step all over me. Blue steak? Lamb? Oysters? I’ll give them the best damn meal they’ve had. Who cares about bluefish tuna.” 

Colby just laughed at Sanji’s ramblings, making way at one of the unoccupied stations to watch Sanji cook. Because, and if it wasn’t already obvious, Sanji was one  hell of a chef. He had the ingredients impeccably cut in a matter of seconds, knife handled at such precision that one could mistake him for a swordsman. The pots and pans were already prepped so that he could immediately start the next stages, oysters boiling away as Sanji started on the sauce. The smell of freshly cut lemon and butter, mixed with an assortment of spices and secret ingredients wafted from the station in front of Sanji. Minutes later he was plating everything, the short sizzle of steak on the pan giving off a nice scent of fine beef. 

And then he was out, three dishes balanced on his arms as he went back to where he came from. 

When he was back in front of the last door, he didn’t knock nor did he wait—it wasn’t as if he  _could_ , his hands occupied either way—so he just slid it open with his foot. “It would be really beneficial for you, Roronoa—“ Sanji heard one of the men saying, and this time he didn’t wait for them to finish before he interrupted. 

“Your food.” 

Though he treated the people harshly, he handled the plates with care, setting them down carefully. It smelled as good as Sanji knew it was, so much so that people had glanced over to see what Sanji was carrying on his way there to get the same. 

Just as he was about to back off and go back to the kitchen, Zoro’s voice cut through the silence of their table’s examination of the food. 

“Oi. You cooked?” he gestured to Sanji’s apron, and the blonde cursed himself for forgetting to take it off, because now Zoro would most likely have a biased opinion—if it wasn’t already going to be one. 

“Yes.”

“Stay at the table,” one of the older men said, “I might need you to get me something else from the menu.” 

Sanji nearly snorted.  _Fucking idiots._

He listened nonetheless, ignoring his urge to smoke as he settled in a random spot, watching their reactions. He knew the man wouldn’t be needing “something else” from the menu, because if there was one thing Sanji mastered, it would be how to cook steak, varying from old ladies’ preferred well-done to the blue that the man ordered. His lamb was no joke, either. 

As the withering fools shoved napkins into their collar and prepared to eat, they resumed their conversation for a moment, seemingly uncaring that Sanji was now there. It made sense, Sanji thought to himself, because with whatever influence they had, they could probably send a gang to beat him up if anything ever got out. Or perhaps there was an unspoken rule here that servers who went VIP had to keep their mouths shut in return for their lives or something. He wondered what Nami and Robin usually went through when they served these types of people. 

“Our offer still stands, Roronoa,” the less grouchier of the two (the one who  hadn’t  asked for the bluefin tuna) stated, “It would be beneficial for both of us if we took out Kid’s group.” 

Zoro hummed in response, stabbing an oyster with the shellfish fork provided, the chef watching closely for any reaction. As he popped it in his mouth and chewed, there was no reaction or even change in his manners, and Sanji wanted to swear aloud because fuck this guy for being unreadable. 

“We have an easy way to take them out. Our informant told us about their rendez-vous place with their weapon supplier. We can let you in on the info in exchange for your taking them out for us.” 

The man with the steak finally placed a piece of meat in his mouth, chewing obnoxiously as he silently critiqued the food. No comment. 

Although there was no praise, it was Sanji’s victory; unlike with Zoro he could tell that the man was satisfied just from his mannerisms, and the chef nearly smirked when the first man brought up another piece to his mouth. 

“With new groups being formed nowadays, it’s important to—“

Sanji saw the final bring a piece of Sanji’s lamb up to his mouth—and really, he should’ve expected it. 

“—make sure that we show them who’s boss—“

The sound of chewed up meat being spit back onto a plate interrupted the Steak Man, and a flash of red exploded in Sanji’s eyes when he saw the discarded piece of lamb on the plate. He acted in the next second, heel nearly breaking the table when he slammed it right in front of the man’s plate, enjoying the large flinches that he received in return from the old bastards. He forgot where he was in that moment, his only goal being to kick the idea into the man’s head that  no one wasted food.

“Enjoying your meal?” Sanji questioned, and then after dragging his foot off the table, he closed the distance with one step, lifting his leg for a kick he was hoping to connect at the man’s chest. However, the man started yelling incoherently about calling Sanji’s employer out and “firing him for good”, backing up a good few feet while saying so. 

The chef wasn’t the most intimidated by the threats because he knew he could get a job anywhere else—but he’d started to enjoy being here, and that moment of thought allowed him to suddenly realize that whatever he’d do to this man wasn’t worth it. He was just another bastard at just another restaurant. Even though he felt that he wouldn’t be getting in great trouble because of the fact that Zoro’s demeanour hadn’t changed from his calm silence, he decided the scare was enough. 

Sanji dropped his foot. 

“I will go get some complimentary wine.”

He knew he should get out of there in case something ripped off all composure he had, so he turned and started leaving. Just as he slid the door closed behind him, he heard Zoro finally speak up, the deep timbre of his voice carrying through the paper thin material behind him.

“You’re right that getting rid of Kid would be beneficial.”

There was a pause, and Sanji imagined the two old men nodding like dogs when they realized Zoro completely brushed the scene aside and got back to the point. It made Sanji’s fists clench, wondering how the man stayed so emotionless through everything, until—

“But who ever said I needed your help to take them down?” 

His voice had dropped lower than Sanji thought it could even go, and it was laced in layers of menace. He wondered what Zoro looked like saying those words, and he felt a shudder run down his spine as he remembered the glint in his eyes that Sanji’d seen weeks earlier, behind the restaurant after the man had killed two people. 

“You’ve wasted my time,” Zoro continued, and though they were short sentences, Sanji could tell that they held weight that pointed to the fact that Zoro was definitely placed on a higher pedestal than these men. “And Mr. Thompson.” Sanji’s attention piqued at that, wondering which one of them was Thompson. “You know I own this restaurant. Just be glad that I even let you eat our chef’s cooking here. Spit it out again and it’ll be your tongue on the plate.” 

Sanji didn’t realize his eyes had widened until he blinked, and for some reason, his fists had loosened and he felt his levels of anger simmer down. The words ran through his mind again, as if his brain was trying to make sure that Zoro had actually said something like that. After confirming it with Mr. Thompson’s hurried, desperate apologies, he left, figuring that any more eavesdropping and he’d probably seem as if he took a break while grabbing the wine. 

There was no great explanation for why he felt strangely proud, but _dammit_ , did he feel proud.

The Karma he’d so badly wanted to inflict on Mr. Thompson had been given by Roronoa Zoro. 

As he made his way up to the bar, he could feel Robin’s glance on him. 

“Something good happen, Cook-san?” 

“Not necessarily, my lady.” He grabbed a fine wine, pouring it into a clean cup just as how he’d learned to. 

“You’re smiling.”

“So I am.” 

Maybe he wasn’t as terrible as Sanji expected. 

(Ironic, because the mosshead  definitely  threatened to cut off someone’s tongue, mere moments ago.) 

It didn’t change the fact that tuna-asking-bastard got what he deserved.

-

After he served the wine, things mostly calmed down. The old men weren’t acting all high and mighty anymore, and Zoro and the steak man were finishing their food in silence, Thompson sipping away at wine. Sanji could, however, feel the tension as if it were an object. It no doubt came from Zoro’s rejection of their offer, and the chef swore that if he really tried, he could touch the sentiment lingering in the air. 

It all didn’t matter in the end, because the meal finished with no other occurrence between the negotiators. The men packed up while Zoro stayed, sipping from the wine bottle (which once again peeved Sanji), air nonchalant around him. 

Once the men passed Sanji on their way out, he finally stepped in to start cleaning up, having to kneel down because of how low the table was. 

“So,” the swordsman suddenly spoke up, and Sanji finished wiping up a small spill before he looked over, hands still occupied with the stacking of plates.

“So?” 

Zoro tilted his head, gesturing for Sanji to sit down across from him. The chef was hesitant but he didn’t want it to show, fingers slowly letting the plates down and back onto the table. 

“...I’m going to smoke,” Sanji said, as a way to let Zoro stop him if it was prohibited.

A wave of his hand was all Sanji needed, but then Zoro added, “People do much worse.”

“No fucking shit,” Sanji mumbled, falling none too gracefully from his kneeling position to a cross-legged stance, fingers reaching inside his jacket pocket for his nicotine fix. He acknowledged that the pillow under him felt just right against his tush, once again reminding him that he was currently sitting across the sort of man who could own a restaurant with such details. “So what the hell do you do?” he decided to ask, finger fumbling with the lighter’s switch. 

Zoro pushed himself back until he could lean against the wall, knee coming up to rest the arm holding his wine bottle. “This and that.” 

“Descriptive.” 

Sanji decided to ignore the smirk thrown his way, taking in a breath of his cigarette instead. 

“What did you think of that?” Zoro inquired, going back to his original intentions when he had invited Sanji to sit down. 

“What, that dinner?” When Zoro didn’t deny, Sanji continued, “A shit show. I hate men like that.” 

“Thought you would.” 

It took a second for Sanji to register those words but when he did, he glared across the table. “Then why did you ask for me?” 

Zoro shrugged, looking at the painting Sanji had noted at the beginning as he took another swig of wine. “Because I knew.” 

Sanji felt his temper flare and he considered starting a physical fight for a second or two before he decided once more that it wasn’t worth it, knowing that he had to get back to work anytime soon. He instead pushed against the table to get back up, staring right at Zoro. “Look, I don’t care that you’re some big shot with a bunch of lackeys under your thumb.” Zoro snorted at that, but Sanji simply continued. “I’d rather not have to deal with you so don’t ask for me again. Everything you do pisses me off,” he stated, and then after a moment he started picking up the plates again to leave. 

“Likewise, ero-cook.” 

Sanji swore he’d beat the guy’s head in one day. “Fuck you, mosshead.” 

And that was Sanji’s first time acting as Zoro’s server. 

He’d never get used to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;))) how’d you like that?? 
> 
> Man I just have so much fun writing about a mafia Zoro. Like yes, step on me. I hope you liked this chapter!
> 
> Once more, there’s no big goal or storyline to this, it’s simply me loving the heck out of a mafia boss Zoro and a worker Sanji ehe


	3. Repair Fees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another busy day at the restaurant. They meet.

IF SANJI THOUGHT his first time serving Zoro was crappy, he wasn’t prepared for the next day.

Apparently there was a big event in town—some soccer game Sanji couldn’t give more than two shits about—and the restaurant got filled with foreigners who didn’t do much but insult the workers. It started with comments about how the service was too slow, and then moved on to how the servers weren’t respectful, and then evolved into just straight up bullshitting.

Sanji tried to understand it. Sure, maybe their team lost and they wanted to get drunk, but was that really an excuse to be an asshole to everyone around?

He clicked his tongue as he looked away from the table making the most noise, carrying used plates back to the kitchen.

The blond wanted to take a break, but between acting as the head chef, serving, cleaning up, dealing with assholes and trying to protect the ladies from even _bigger_ assholes, he couldn’t do much but take a longer breath than normal every fifteen minutes. That was, until Robin—the lovely woman that she is—apparently told on him to Law, who promptly forced him to take a break. He tried arguing, but the only place that got him to was the VIP rooms after being pushed in by Law.

“It’s the only relatively calm place in this restaurant right now,” Law explained, and then said a couple of words to the guards, who opened up the second door for Sanji.

“Trafalgar, I can just take a smoke break outside, this isn’t neces—“

“You can smoke in here and take a seat while you’re at it. I’d rather you take a break in here than out there.”

Sanji frowned, but he kind of agreed. It was getting chilly outside, and that info just reminded him of how long he’d been working at The New World now. Still, the fresh air would be nice...

He relented when Law just gave him his infamous warning stare, and raised an eyebrow when Law added, “I also have to talk to you about something.”

There was no doubt that they were going to talk about Zoro and the people he served yesterday and the _big fucking fact_ that their restaurant was a gang meet-up area. Sanji was strangely intrigued by what Law would say.

The two of them began walking past the threshold and back to the area he’d just been in yesterday. While they walked Sanji thought that maybe he could take this time (after his talk with Law) to explore a little bit, because there seemed to be more than just a few rooms here. When the second doors closed behind Law and him, the blond followed his boss into the room across the one he was familiar with.

There was no difference in the size, but the accents were different; different painting and different little trinkets on the shelf of the back wall. When they sat down, Sanji noted that even the pillows changed to match the other accessories.

“So,” Law started, “I’m sure you’ve noticed the stuff that happens around here.”

“Yeap,” Sanji agreed, fiddling with the napkin holder.

“Not all of our staff are aware of what goes on here, and there are some that have personally chosen to stay out of it to just do their regular job. Then there are people like Nami and Robin, who are essential to our business and help things move along nicely.”

The chef nodded, a little disappointed that Law wasn’t telling him exactly what he was dealing with. It was probably just him asking Sanji if he was okay with it all.

He was proven correct when the man then said, “It’s a little late, but it’s still possible if you want to stay out of all this. There’s nothing dangerous about it, really—the groups know you’re workers under Zoro and won’t bother you, even Robin and Nami have their safety guaranteed.” Law stopped explaining for a second, seeming to think about something. “It’s kind of a shame that I couldn’t tell you about it before you started fighting with Roronoa. But I can tell him you want nothing to do with it, because I understand it’s too much for some people.”

At the words, Sanji smiled, setting down the napkin holder that he was messing with. “You’re a good man, Trafalgar. Unfortunately I’ve experienced bullshit worse than this, so it doesn’t bother me all that much. I wouldn’t mind helping out once in a while with whatever goes on.”

Law gave him a smile, and then he began standing up, letting out a sigh that seemed relieved. “Good, because it was strange that Roronoa requested for someone specific yesterday. Wasn’t sure if you had an actual out or not.”

Sanji scoffed, “That bastard would be glad if I disappeared off the face of this earth.”

“He gives that impression to many. Anyway, I will get back and finally give you your break time. Take 30 starting from now.”

Sanji knew there was no use arguing, simply making a noise of confirmation as Law left the room.

When it’d only been him for a few minutes and he’d had time to think over what just happened, he decided to check out every single room during his break. Of course he lit a cigarette beforehand to sate his cravings.

Sanji didn’t bother with the first room because he knew what it looked like, instead going to the one right next door. It looked exactly the same except for the painting, this time being a koi fish in a pond. The next few rooms on the same wall were identical, and he turned once he reached the end of the hallway, starting his curious streak on rooms across from the ones before. He didn’t know what he was expecting—maybe the same room, but he definitely didn’t expect to open the door to an all too familiar figure sitting slumped against the wall deep inside.

At first he thought Zoro was dead. Probably got important people angry and had himself assassinated. A few moments later revealed that he was just sleeping, because Sanji could see the minute rise and fall of his chest behind the swords he loosely hugged to himself.

Sanji didn’t quite know why he did it (perhaps he wanted to wake the bastard and ask him why he was sleeping in a place like this) but he decided to travel further in. Zoro wasn’t in his normal expensive suit and fitted shoes, now in a light kimono, dark green coat draped over his shoulders*.He also noted that the room the man resided in was larger than the ones currently behind him, and had more accessories like plant bowls and lights on the wall. Other than that, it was the same style; traditional table, mats, raised wooden flooring a few paces in.

He barely made it past the entrance when a creak in the wood sounded after his first step, and it brought his attention to his foot on instinct. When he looked back up he was met with the gaze that he was strangely getting accustomed to. He suddenly felt as if he’d been caught—now that Zoro had spotted him before he could wake him up with an insulting remark. It was also a little curious how, when Zoro recognized that it was Sanji, his hand that reflexively gripped his sword loosened.

Sanji was terribly aware of the weird silence that settled, and he didn’t want it to drag on and become awkward, so he settled on his original idea.

“Why the hell are you sleeping here?”

Zoro shrugged, then moving his shoulders back to stretch them out, kimono opening a tad bit more to reveal his skin. “My restaurant. I do what I want.”

“That’s your motto, huh. Kinda conceited.”

“Labelling yourself the best chef in the city is a little bit out there too, no?”

Sanji felt his face unwillingly heat up, because, _dammit—_ “That was Law.” He’d told the man over and over again that he preferred not being called that, but their website had it plastered everywhere that “Sanji Black was the best chef in town”. He wouldn’t be surprised to suddenly see it pasted on the front page of their menu sooner or later.

Zoro let his head drop against the wall behind him, eye closing again. Sanji suddenly wondered what happened to his other eye. “Sure.”

He didn’t say a word after that, and Sanji checked his watch, realizing that he’d only passed a little more than ten minutes in the VIP section. He had 20 minutes left. What the hell would he do during that time?

“Why did you apply here?” Zoro suddenly asked, and Sanji glanced up to see that Zoro still had his eye closed. A little annoying how he somehow knew that Sanji was still there.

“I’m not some spy, if that’s what you mean,” Sanji stated, glancing down at his shoe as he took in another drag, wondering when they’d gotten so beaten up. “My old man decided he didn’t want me in his restaurant anymore.”

It was weird that Sanji revealed something personal to someone like Zoro, but he reasoned it with the fact that he had a strange (but not at all strange) feeling that the man didn’t care whatsoever. That no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change what Zoro was thinking, whatever that was. He had the impression that the swordsman was someone as stubborn and straight-forward as a bull.

He soon realized that it was unfair that Zoro was the only one comfortable, now that they had something like an actual _conversation_ going on. Because of that, Sanji decided to lean on the wall next to the door, relaxing his shoulders.

He was fiddling with his little portable ashtray when Zoro spoke up again.

“‘You make the menu?” he questioned.

“Uhuh, down to the little orange peels in the soup.”

Zoro paused, and then he supplied a, “Not bad.”

At that Sanji raised an eyebrow, not expecting the sudden half compliment. He changed the subject, however, when he realized that _everything_ Zoro had done was unfair.

“Now that you’ve asked me two questions, I reserve the right to ask you some.”

“Shoot,” Zoro said.

“How big is your organization?”

Zoro opened his eye and stared at Sanji, and the blond realized that maybe the question definitely painted him as a spy just now, but after a moment Zoro said, “In numbers I’d say 30 to 200.”

“That’s a pretty weird range.”

“Some people are just boys who are fans of the boss.”

“Boss? So you have a boss, which means you actually can’t do everything you want.”

Zoro shook his head, “I have a boss, but he isn’t what you’re imagining in your mind right now.”

The image Sanji had conjured in his mind—some big guy with maybe a moustache who carries a gun in his jacket—quickly dissipates, and he thinks of what he’d expect the least. Maybe a kid. Or maybe—

“Is it a lady?” Sanji questioned, and he didn’t hide his curious excitement.

“No, ero-cook—“

“Fuck that nickname—“

“He’s just young. Kind of stupid. Stomach’s a lot bigger than any that I’ve seen, though it doesn’t look like it.”

Sanji then got an image of some kid on a skateboard, holding a plate of steak and gravy in one hand and some weapon in his other.

“He’d probably like you. Since you’re a chef.”

The way Zoro talked about this man was a little intriguing to Sanji. His tone was still cold but the words he used definitely wasn’t what he expected someone in a crime group to say about his boss. It was more like he was talking about a friend, or family. The thought made Sanji feel weird.

“For what reason does he like you, then? I don’t know why anyone would tolerate you,” Sanji admitted, the temptation to shoot jabs at Zoro too high.

Zoro seemed amused, and then he sat up a little bit, grasping his sword to stop it from tipping over. “ _I_ tolerate _him_. And he works with me because I’m the best swordsman around.”

The blond rolled his eyes, tapping the ashes into the tray as he says, “Doubt it.”

“I wonder,” Zoro just about cut him off, “Why do you have the guts to say that kind of stuff to my face?”

“Because I don’t care that you’re apart of some hotshot mafia group or if you’ve killed twenty people or something. I hold my own just fine, especially when my employer isn’t here,” Sanji pointed out, referring back to all the other times he had to stop or hold himself back because of Law. Sanji took in and let out another drag. “I’ll beat your ass anytime.”

“...Yeah?” the swordsman questioned, and Sanji just stared right back at him, gazes both trying to outweigh the other’s from across the room. “Let’s go, then.”

“Right now?”

A menacing grin appeared on Zoro’s face, and Sanji could tell that he’d used it in different situations before. Probably situations moments before bodies dropped to the floor. “I’ve been wanting to see how you would do against me.”

Sanji shrugged. “Why not, I guess. You don’t mind anything breaking?”

Zoro began to stand, letting the green fabric around his shoulders drop to leave him in only his kimono. “Not at all.” Sanji stood following suite, putting out his cigarette by snubbing it against the gold of his present from Zeff, tucking the ashtray safely away in his inner jacket pocket.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a feeling that was familiar to him whenever his adrenaline boosted during a fight.

When Zoro dropped his swords, however, Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not gonna need those?” he asked while he loosened his tie, folding his blazer neatly in his hands moments later.

“Nah, I was thinking more of a fistfight.”

Sanji tossed his blazer to the corner of the room. “Sorry,” he began, tapping the tip of his loafers into the wooden flooring, “I don’t do fists.”

That was when he pushed off, coming right at Zoro. His first kick connected to Zoro’s blocking arm, and the grunt that Zoro released on impact told him that he wasn’t as rusty as he was afraid of being. He performed a few other kicks, determining how fast of a reaction time Zoro had. The man seemed adept—as expected, knowing his job and all.

In fact, it seemed that their reaction times were roughly the same. Sanji could dodge the punches Zoro threw at him and Zoro blocked every kick that came his way. Sanji was pretty glad that Zoro wasn’t faster than him, because he could tell that the man’s punch would hurt and hurt _bad_. It was a wonder why he used swords when he could easily beat someone up with his fists. A few moments later was when they were both finished assessing each other, and that was when the fight seemed to really start.

Sanji began pulling out the fancier moves, using his flexibility to his advantage to kick at unexpected angles. As they fought, sometimes Sanji’s foot would break through the paper screens when Zoro dodged, or the man would punch straight through the thin wall and leave holes. It was unclear who was stronger until they’d been at it a few minutes, and then Sanji was reminded of why he was a _chef_ , and _not_ a mafia boss.

Zoro was clearly more trained to fight, because just as Sanji’s shoe snagged the floor he was taken advantage of. Before Sanji could even blink he felt a pressure on his sternum that turned out to be Zoro’s hand, and then he was shoved into the wall, breath knocking out of him just as he felt another hand grasp his thigh to leave that leg immobile.

He had to take a second to regain his breathing, and then he was glaring at Zoro, knowing without even trying that he wouldn’t break free of this hold. His leg was kept in between the crook of Zoro’s arm and his body, and the hold was alarmingly tight. Sometimes his mindset to only use his legs was a curse because all he could do with his other leg was keep standing.

When he was no longer panting Zoro leaned in, a look in his eyes that made Sanji’s blood boil.

“You said you’d beat my ass?” Zoro taunted, and then Sanji just rolled his eyes, letting his head fall against the wall as he glanced to the damage they made at the back of the room. Honestly, he’d already expected this outcome to their fight, even if he talked big. Sanji was no means a bad fighter—hell, he’d won seemingly impossible fights before—but his skills definitely paled when fairly placed next to someone who constantly honed their skills.

“Yeah, yeah. You win.”

Zoro won. But did Sanji mention “fairly”?

When he felt the grip on him loosen, he pulled a maneuver that even Zeff would shake his head at. He head-butted the mafia man, using his free leg to step behind one of Zoro’s feet and forcing him to topple over with his body weight. Sanji landed atop of Zoro on the leg that’d been previously held captive, his other knee now digging into the man’s abdomen just enough for it to be uncomfortable.

It was not enough to hold Zoro if he made an actual effort to escape, but Sanji decided it was a win enough that the man was pinned under him for a few moments.

“Unexpected,” Zoro pointed out, most likely because he hadn’t expected Sanji to pull an evidently unfair move like that. Sanji just grinned down at him.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow, but then he agreed with a “fair”.

For a fleeting moment Sanji thought that Zoro didn’t look all that bad underneath him, but then he threw the thoughts away with a _tsk_ as he stood, annoyed at his own thoughts.

“So that was that,” Sanji said, looking as Zoro got up from his laying position. “Did I live up to your expectations?” He asked it as a joke, but obviously Zoro didn’t take it as one.

The mosshead, who was now sitting cross-legged, shrugged. “More or less.”

“God,” Sanji started, “I really hate how you talk.”

“How so?”

“It’s— _that_! Your answers are so vague and you make it seem like you know something I don’t.”

“You think I _don’t_?”

“Bastard.”

There was a curve to Zoro’s lips, then—and Sanji's unexpected move earlier was not nearly as unexpected as _this_ —he started laughing, looking away from Sanji as the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Get back to work," he soon said.

Sanji faltered for a moment, and then he had to look away before Zoro could catch him staring, moving to pick up his jacket.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I—  
> uwu.  
> Sorry I love writing about people who slowly start to develop crushes (I mean what, that was not a spoiler at all you guys expected it)  
> I hope you liked it, and thank you so much for the support that I've been getting lately!  
> * Zoro's wano outfit is the one I mentioned in this chapter!!


	4. Gap-Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji has dilemmas, and Zoro really doesn’t help.

IF IT REALLY came to it, Sanji was going to get a brain transplant.

Otherwise, he was unsure how he would stop paying extreme attention to whoever entered and left the restaurant, paying especial attention to the VIP doors in the back. There was something he wanted to confirm, and it was nagging him at every moment in the day.

His last exchange with Zoro was the cause for it.

Sanji leaned against the wall next to the kitchen doors, gaze wandering aimlessly at the tables, sometimes landing on Nojiko placing full plates down, or Rebecca who cleaned up the empty ones. It was a relatively calm day, a few customers coming in every half an hour and barely raising the volume in the restaurant to a TV’s 30.

The calm Tuesday did nothing but let Sanji’s mind pick at details of his life it would otherwise ignore, like why the sleeves of his button-up were feeling loose, or why his portable ashtray felt heavier in his jacket. Why Zoro was wearing a kimono instead of his usual suit the other day, and why he’d seemed different to Sanji by the end of their talk.

Sanji always saw and read it in stories. The “Gap-Rule”, where, once an act so different from what was usual occurred, the person who witnessed it would see the subject in a different light. Take a delinquent, for example. They would still skip classes and smoke on the roof, say vulgar words to the female classmates and disrespect teachers, but when someone catches this delinquent feeding a homeless cat, suddenly everything has changed.

The Gap-Rule was such a bullshit psychological trap, in Sanji’s opinion. A trap that he was caught in.

He was ashamed to admit that it was because of the laugh Zoro had let out at the end of their encounter. It was so genuine that Sanji felt his mental resolve combusting. He knew that his judgment of Zoro became shot, and now he saw every act from the man as something it previously wasn’t.

Sanji knew he was subject to the gap rule, and now he was trying to prove himself wrong. He knew that Zoro was the most arrogant bastard that’d stepped into the restaurant, apart of some crime group, and killed people on a daily basis. Yet some part of his mind kept trying to prove himself wrong, saying things like: maybe he had a reason to do all of this, or maybe outside of his whole mafia persona he was actually an okay person.

It was also coincidentally a time where Zoro decided to disappear off the face of the earth, not showing up in the dining area nor being lead to the VIP area by Robin as per usual. His first (and what would seem to continuously be his first) guess was that Zoro died. Sanji didn’t have any run-ins with the man for a good few weeks, and he slowly forgot that he even had the dilemma in the first place, settling back into his daily routine of “wake up, work, eat, go to sleep”, and repeat. Of course he finds some things to spice his life up, like trying out a new cake recipe for the dessert section of their menu, or buying different flowers for the flower vase in his kitchen. 

After what seemed to be a month without the intolerable presence of the mafia man, Law came up to him at the beginning of his shift, patting him on the back as he casually said, "Zoro's crew is coming back from their trip today, just thought I'd let you know in case you run into him." Before Law could leave it as a casual statement, however, Sanji raised an eyebrow, a look of confusion on his face that stopped Law in his tracks. "I forgot to tell you they even left, didn't I."

"Yup," Sanji confirmed, and then Law let out a sigh of exasperation at himself. Sanji looked back at the towel he was washing, glad that he at least now had an explanation for the lack of Zoro around (not that he particularly _needed_ it).

"I swore I told everyone I needed to, but I guess I only told Nami and Robin like usual. It's no big deal now that they're back, but yeah, every few months they leave on a trip for business in other countries. I heard it was America this time, and they brought back quite the character as a new worker. He's coming in tomorrow." 

"That's good to know that we'll have another hand. The restaurant's been pretty busy lately," Sanji stated, wringing the water out of the towel and folding it onto the drying rack. "Is there anything else?" 

"Oh yeah, I wanted to talk about the menu for next month. You planned anything yet?" 

"I have an idea, but nothing too solid yet."

"There's been a request for a Japanese dish to be the highlight," he supplied, and Sanji hummed, figuring that it must've been someone important who made the request. “It may seem weird, but to be honest our restaurant can handle weird. People won’t really care.”

This was most likely Zoro’s doing, if Sanji wasn't lying to himself. Only that guy would request a japanese dish from a mostly European/North American menu. 

But whatever, he didn’t have any problem listening to Law, and so the blond nodded a moment after.

"I do have some experience in Japanese cuisine." 

His experience was the year he spent in Japan when he was 18, a sort of reward/learning experience he’d received from Zeff for graduating. He spent that time under a chef that his old man knew, and even now he remembered the customs and recipes drilled into him. Having a japanese dish wouldn’t be a challenge at all, in fact it seemed fun to him in the moment, and so he agreed easily. 

He spent the rest of the day with the thought of which dish to pick on his mind, cooking, cleaning and serving while the gears in his brain turned for foods that the restaurant could provide and sustain—of course keeping the taste and visuals in mind as well. During his half-an-hour break he even took a trip to the store to buy ingredients to immediately start planning once the restaurant closed. He wanted to make it in the restaurant just to be doubly sure that it could be made in that environment (as he had done with every other dish on the menu). 

Before he even knew it his shift was over, and a few stragglers, Law, and him, were the only ones left cleaning up. It was nearing 2 a.m. when they finished cleaning up, and usually Sanji would be ready for his bedsheets around now.

His body and mind were already used to the insane amount of hours a chef would have to work (especially when he was almost over-obsessive about cooking), so he’d fallen into routine to be ready to knock out when his shift was done. Today, however, he was itching to try out a new dish, and instead of doing it the next day in the morning like he usually did, he was ready to do it right at that moment. 

Law didn’t question him when he told the man his plans, only telling him to lock up once he left out the back door. 

That left Sanji with his ingredients and ideas, and then he set off on his experiments. He wanted to make an option for people to order a whole Japanese-styled meal, with the soup portion, main dish and dessert to be things traditional to Japan. His experiments started after he decided to test out the soup portion first. He wanted to make miso soup—as his japanese superior had told him: _a miso soup that you could imagine your grandmother making for you_. 

It took him half an hour to even figure out the right portion with the right ratios to make, and he only really started cooking once he was sure of it. 

It was definitely past 2 a.m. now, but Sanji was too focused to check even his watch or the clock on the wall. He took joy in just standing there, stirring the broth and listening to the simmering of liquid; the popping of bubbles and the evaporating of water that escaped in droplets. 

Moments later he lifted the wooden spoon to check the taste, when all of a sudden—

“Enjoying yourself?” 

He squeezed the spoon in shock and somehow sent the broth flying onto his apron, a surprised “ _fuck!_ ” leaving his mouth as he whipped around to check the noise. 

“God dammit—“ he spotted Zoro standing at the entrance of the kitchen, leaned against the wall dressed in a dark kimono. “Roronoa, what the hell!” 

And then there was a seemingly restrained chuckle that left the man’s mouth, followed by him pushing off the doorway to step further inside. 

“That should be my line. ‘You know what time it is?” Zoro questioned, eyebrow raised as he approached Sanji. The man almost wanted to back away, heart still beating with the adrenaline the scare gave him. 

“Of course I do, dumbass,” he grumbled, having to lean back when Zoro got a little close, sniffing the broth Sanji was working on. 

“Smells like home.” 

The words for some reason made Sanji feel flustered, and he blamed it on the fact he’d been standing near the stove for too long. He decided to start talking. 

“So you _are_ Japanese?” 

The stare Zoro gave him was deadpan, and he backed away from the stove to lean against the island while saying, “You think I’d do cosplays?” he retorted, obviously talking about how he’d worn kimonos around.

“Again with the roundabout answers,” Sanji rolled his eyes, checking the stain on his apron before getting back to his original task of tasting the miso soup. This time he was successful (read: he didn’t spill it everywhere) and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration when the taste didn’t fit the idea he had in mind. He added a bit more of the miso paste, stirring the liquid as he spoke up again. "What are you doing here so late?"

He saw from his peripherals that Zoro had grabbed the stool in the corner, pulling it to the side of the island Sanji was standing in front of. 

"I sleep here." 

Now that surprised Sanji, because he expected the man to sleep in his penthouse suite or something. The biggest house on the block, or some mansion outside of town, whatever. Mafia leaders were usually rich, were they not? 

“Why the hell are you sleeping _here_ out of all places?” 

“It’s convenient.” 

“You don’t prefer your double king-sized bed?” Sanji asked, obvious spite in his voice. Zoro snorted. 

“A futon is all I really need. I can sleep wherever I want.” 

The words do make some sense to Sanji, because he had seen Zoro sleeping in the VIP rooms weeks—a month, before. The thought suddenly reminded Sanji of the fact that the guy had been gone that long. 

“So what do you do on your business trips?” 

“Business.” 

“Oh wow, fan-fucking-tastic.” 

Sanji took another taste of the miso soup, feeling mildly frustrated when he still didn’t get the taste right. The smell was similar to what he remembered having before, but there was something off. 

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, because he swore he’d done it exactly as he wrote in his notebook, so nothing should have been off. He didn’t want to trust the internet, and he didn’t want to contact his superior in case it bothered the man. 

He _could_ ask Zoro about it... But will his pride ever allow that? 

Before he could even start a conversation, however, it seemed that Zoro noticed already. 

“Let me taste it.” 

Sanji glared at the man because he’d simply barged into the kitchen and was now asking to taste the food, and if he was in any other situation he’d say no and kick him out because he didn’t care about a dumbass’s opinion. However, he needed the opinion of someone who grew up with this food. 

The blond relented without a word, setting the spoon down and backing away just enough to give him space. Usually he’d never let someone dip a used spoon back into food, but it was just experimenting time, so when Zoro stepped up and grabbed the spoon he’d just used he had no problem. 

Sanji noticed that even though the man seemed to be in his comfort attire he still had his three swords at his waist, as well as the earrings that dangled from his ear. He didn’t seem to be one who changed accessories day to day, either way.

The blond felt like he much preferred when Zoro was dressed in his kimonos to when he was dressed in his suits. It just seemed like he wasn’t as wound up and ready to fight—relaxed, would be the word Sanji was looking for—though there was no doubt that the man would be ready to fight, attire be damned.

He thought then that it’d be nice if Zoro constantl—

 _Now why the hell am I thinking about this_ , Sanji wondered, cutting himself off.

He returned to the scene once Zoro had taken a spoonful and then set the spoon down, subsequently backing away to his original spot away from the stove. 

The chef stared at the mafia member with a skeptical look on his face when silence continued, and then after another moment he questioned, irritated, “ _So_?” 

“So, what?” Zoro asked. 

“You tasted it, so how was the fucking soup!” Sanji exclaimed, incredulous. 

He realized he’d just fallen into another one of Zoro’s ploys when a smirk appeared on his face. 

“I just said ‘let me taste it’.” 

“You’re fucking insufferable.” 

“...It was fine,” Zoro decided to say, and Sanji let out his biggest sigh up to date. 

“Why the hell did I even bother—“

”I think it might be the miso paste,” the mosshead suddenly continued, gaze now on the container Sanji used. “Usually, the one I had was homemade.” 

Before thinking that it was weird Zoro was actually helpful, Sanji wondered how in the hell he forgot about that. The fact that literally nothing could beat the taste of homemade food—meaning homemade _ingredients_ as well. 

He facepalmed himself, dragging his hand down his face to relieve the headache he received from both Zoro and his own idiocy. His eyes were also hurting, most definitely because he was up way past his fixed bedtime. 

When he opened his eyes again he saw Zoro’s gaze on him, and that was when he realized that the mosshead had actually _helped_ him, for once. For some reason unknown to him, the moment he took note of that he tore his stare away as fast as he could, going to turn off the stove to call it a night. There was nothing more he could do to the miso soup today, because he needed to go find better miso paste.

Sanji sighed. He hated that he had decent respect for people who did nice things for him, and, dammit, he was being hit full force with the gap-rule. 

He just had to. “Thanks,” Sanji mumbled, despite still feeling annoyance seep through his veins. “I’m going to clean up now.” 

“Don’t, I’ll do it.” 

Sanji raised an eyebrow. 

“Staying back,” Zoro explained curtly, and Sanji realized he had a point. “What are you going to do with the soup?” 

The chef glanced at the mentioned soup, and then he answered easily because it was what he always did when he made experiments. “I’ll pack it up to eat it later.” 

“Give me some,” Zoro said, and for the first few seconds the words flew right past Sanji’s head. 

Then he let out a “huh?” because, “Why would you eat something that doesn’t even taste right?” he questioned, and although he himself would do exactly that, he didn’t expect Zoro to do it. 

“It’s still food,” Zoro shrugged, “And I realized that I’m hungry.” It was an honest answer, and the chef felt something pull at him when he realized that maybe a part of them aligned. He did see it before too, with the whole Mr. Thompson incident and wasted food. 

“Well... I,” Sanji began, hesitant because he couldn’t believe he was even fucking offering, “Could make you something, you know, for a full meal.” 

“No. Go home.” 

The words were cold but Sanji could tell that there was something else there (and he’d say it was some form of consideration if the subject wasn’t Zoro), and so he just _tsked_ as if he was annoyed, grabbing a spare container to spoon in a third of the broth. Once he was finished with that he untied his apron and slipped it off. 

“You better actually clean up,” Sanji warned, “If I come back tomorrow and there’s a mess, I’ll find you and beat you awake.” 

“I get the nickname ‘prissy prince’ now,” Zoro stated, and Sanji’s jaw dropped. 

“Who the hell has been calling me that?” 

“Mm, everyone?” 

“Oh fuck you, I know not everyone hates me.” 

“‘Not everyone’, sure, believe that.” 

Sanji just shook his head, grabbing his jacket from the equipment room and swapping it with his apron, putting on the former as he wondered what to say next. Saying goodbye to Zoro seemed strange as hell. 

“I’m leaving,” he decided to say, and all he got was a nod from Zoro before he pulled open the side door, figuring Zoro could lock both the side and back doors later. 

The cold and dry air outside contrasted so greatly with the warmth inside that he immediately shivered when the door closed behind him, wrapping his arms around himself as he started walking down the side alley to the parking lot out back. 

His thoughts wandered back to the man he’d left in the kitchen, and then he realized that he never really proved the gap-rule wrong. In fact, with every passing meeting it seemed that he was the one getting proven wrong. 

“Fuck that guy,” Sanji mumbled, and then his instincts spiked when he heard a noise behind him, quickly glancing into the darkness so that he could catch whatever it was. 

He stood for a moment, wondering if he’d have to beat up some dude who would attempt to mug him, before he decided that it was probably just a cat, turning back around to get to his car. 

Thank god, because he was just in the mood for some damn sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, thank you so much for your comments on my other chapters they just make me feel so warm inside <3333  
> I hope you like this chapter (not to be egotistical but I loved this because Zosan in the kitchen in the a.m’s with no one else there, testing a miso soup smh smh I’ve been excited to write about this since day one)  
> Look forward to the next update!!!


	5. Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new worker in the kitchen, and he's pretty cool. What's not cool is how Sanji gets confronted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of late lol

IF THE SUN rose any later than this, Sanji would start to accidentally sleep in. 

This was why winter was probably his least favourite season, that and the fact that he required multiple layers to not feel like a popsicle whenever he stepped outside. It was also barely even winter yet, being only a few days into November.

Once Sanji got over the terrible morning blues that came with waking up during dark hours, he got ready for his long day at work as per routine. On Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays, the restaurant opened from 2 p.m., and on the rest of the days including weekends, it opened at 11 a.m. Usually Sanji came to the restaurant three hours before it opened, and he'd work on recipes and prepare for the day. His cooks came in two hours before and the openers, one hour before. No one asked him to come in 3 hours early—in fact Law told him that he most definitely didn't need to, but after working at the Baratie it was like second nature for him. He also preferred the alone time in a kitchen full of expensive supplies that he himself didn't indulge in at home. 

That specific day was a Thursday and so he'd be arriving at 8 a.m., which was only twenty or so minutes away from his current time.

He decided that it was a sky-blue button-up today (he usually cycled through different blues, pinks, a yellow, and plain whites and blacks), and put on one of the dark dress pants he had too many of. He didn't bother with breakfast this morning because he knew he'd probably make something at The New World later, and so after he was all finished getting ready, he left out of his front door.

He lived in a modest apartment—the whole building itself was not modest, being a huge structure on the corner a block away from main street—his place only consisted of a kitchen, dining/living room, and his bedroom and washroom. His window at least had a nice view of the street, but it was not even a rival to the huge apartments he could spot a few ways away, with what seemed to be a crazy amount of floors that overlooked the whole city. 

Sanji stepped out of his apartment and shook from the chill, speed-walking to his car and questioning whether he'd really be entering a clean kitchen or not. In the lot he seemed to feel a gaze on him, but when he turned all he saw was rows of cars. Perhaps he was just becoming more paranoid because of his position at The New World, but he swore something was off about his surroundings lately—just yesterday in the alley he thought he caught something as well.

He brushed it off and decided he could handle whatever was thrown his way, getting in his car to start the ride.

The trip there was short, and he unlocked the front door using the keys he always kept, being greeted by the unopened state of the restaurant. Without the lights on it seemed a lot less glamorous than it really was, most definitely because it was missing the twinkling golden reflections that came with the illuminance. 

He slid behind the front desk to turn on the lights, wincing a little bit at the change. Then he was making it to the kitchen, which he hoped with all of his being was actually clean. He didn't know what to expect from Zoro. Perhaps the man actually just left everything the way it was the night before.

When he flicked the light switch in the kitchen, he was pleasantly greeted by the sight he was hoping for. After a bit of inspection he noted that the salt shaker was out of place, but the vegetables, pots, and cutlery were all put away neatly. It was not bad at all for someone who (for all Sanji knew) had never been in the kitchen for more than a few minutes. 

He pulled off his jacket and tossed it into the equipment room, wrapping a new apron around himself to start his morning. 

First and foremost, he wanted to eat breakfast. His preaching of always having three good meals did not stop even when it was to himself. He recalled Law telling him that he could use whatever ingredients he wanted to make breakfast or dinner (because he knew Sanji was obsessed and spent too much time at the restaurant) and so he'd been taking the man up on his offer, spending the stuff that he knew they wouldn't be running out of. 

This morning he just decided on an eggs benedict and a vinaigrette salad, pulling out the needed ingredients from the fridge. Just as he was grabbing enough English muffins for one serving, he suddenly recalled that it shouldn't only be him at the restaurant. Zoro slept wherever in the restaurant, so technically he should still be there. And he'd be hungry, because who _wasn't_ hungry in the mornings.

Sanji could never ignore a hungry person, and so he grabbed enough for two people.

Whipping up the breakfast was as easy as walking, and he even squeezed out an orange juice for the both of them. 

Right before heading to where he assumed Zoro was, he hesitated, wondering if he was really about the _willingly_ serve the person he'd called "bastard" one too many times. Even making him a portion of breakfast was pushing it already, so what the hell made him think he was going to bring it to the man? 

And then he just decided to shut off his reasoning, because he already had the food and backing out now meant he'd either waste it or eat way too much that morning. If he didn’t bring it to the man there was little chance that the food would even be eaten.

With that thought in mind, he put Zoro’s serving on a tray and headed to the back of the restaurant. Sanji’d never gone to the VIP rooms outside of restaurant hours, so seeing it empty when he passed the first doors was strange. The lack of guards told him that they were only there to guard the meetings, and not something that was kept in the rooms (for example if there were riches hidden somewhere). The doors also weren't locked, and Sanji could only chalk it up to the fact that his guess had been right, and Zoro had just pulled out a futon in one of the rooms somewhere. 

Lights were turned on wherever he went, because he figured he might as well save the opener some time and do it himself as he passed everything. 

The first few rooms contained no Zoro, but as he reached a room on the far right, he heard a sound that was like wind. When he slid open the door, the source of the noise was clear as day.

Zoro was already awake and standing in the middle of the room, swinging his sword in a downward motion. He was obviously used to the training with the nonchalant look on his face, simply going through routine.

He didn't turn to look at Sanji even when the chef walked inside.

"Early riser," Sanji mentioned.

Zoro's voice sounded a bit more gruff than it usually did, most likely because he hadn't used it that day yet. "Not really. Just happened to wake up from a nap."

"A six-hour nap?" the blond questioned, and Zoro swung one more time before he stopped, paused, and then slid the sword back into its sheath as he finally glanced at Sanji.

"My naps can be as long as I want."

"Yes, yes, you do whatever you want. I get it," Sanji said as if he was talking to a child, stepping onto the raised area of the room to get to the low table. He wasn’t planning to stay and eat with Zoro (he’d have to rename himself “madman” to do it), and so he just set down the tray containing the plate, cutlery and cup. "I was making breakfast anyway," he started to explain, even if he probably didn't need to, "So you get one. Consider it your lucky day." 

Zoro was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and Sanji just looked up from where he was crouched down, standing back up. 

"I didn't poison it, if you’re thinking that.” 

“Can’t say I didn’t think about it,” Zoro admitted, but regardless he closed the distance between them to sit in front of the prepared plate. “But I don’t think you’re the type to do that.” 

The blond raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

He didn’t receive an elaboration, only a nod, and then Zoro stopped when he seemed to have noticed something. “You’re not eating?” 

Sanji snorted. “Not here, at least. I have stuff to do.” 

“Hm,” was Zoro’s answer, and then Sanji turned to leave, not casting so much as another glance back at the man. 

Back at the kitchen, he sat down to eat his own breakfast, phone in hand as he searched up miso paste brands. He wanted to see if there was any chance there was a local supplier. He couldn’t make his own now, because he would be _incredibly_ late. The soybeans usually took 6 months to ferment.

If he’d been told about this idea _earlier_ , maybe he could have—

“ _SUPER!!_ ”

The fork in Sanji’s mouth nearly dropped in shock when the doors to the kitchen burst open, and then he was faced with _way too much skin._

_Why was this guy in a speedo?_

“Hello hello everybody, my name is Franky and I am the new worker,” he announced, and Sanji had to keep quiet another second to take in the blue hair and sunglasses, as well as his insanely large forearms. 

“...It’s only me here at this time,” Sanji decided to say, and he was not expecting to be bombarded by the man promptly after. 

His hand was grabbed and shook, and a large babble of words left Franky’s mouth—his entire life story, it seemed. 

Franky was from America (he was undoubtedly who Law was talking about yesterday) and was originally a mechanic in his father’s shop. It was only a week ago that he was introduced to Zoro’s gang, and—Sanji wasn’t sure why the guy was sharing so much when this seemed confidential—he was recruited as their mechanic because he had knowledge about firearms and the group would have a big project going on soon. 

“And that’s it!” Franky concluded, “Now I’m working here as a fake chef so that Mr. Roronoa can easily talk to me when he needs to.” Sanji’s eyebrow twitched. “You’re Mr. Black, right? Head chef? I’ve heard a lot about you from everyone.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes, and I’m excited to learn from you.” 

“Well, let me get one thing straight,” Sanji began, and Franky nodded. “There’s no such thing as ‘fake chef’ here, so you’ll do your job and you’ll do it right.” 

“Super!”

”Also, you shouldn’t be going around telling everyone these things,” the blond stated.

If the coming of Franky meant the start of some massive plan, he wondered just how much trouble the man could start if he went around telling everyone about it. 

Not like it was any of Sanji’s business—at least, he _hoped_ it wasn’t any of his business.

“Loose lips sink ships, or have you not heard?” 

-

Sanji could officially call the day that’d just pass: The Worst Day Yet. 

Not only was Franky hopeless with food, he knew way too much about the technology in the kitchen, which led to him tinkering with things instead of for example making the soup like Sanji had instructed him to. 

Sanji tried putting him out front instead, but Law forbid him because there was no way they were going to let a guy in a speedo (changed to black because Sanji had told him to change in the morning and he _had_ , but only the colour) serve people. Which, was understandable. 

So instead Sanji spent most of his shift trying to teach Franky how to do specific things, and it was only when it was nearly over that he figured out the man had a knack for organizing. He was sent to organize the stock cupboards for the rest of the night. 

He was now wiping the sweat off his brow, cleaning up the last remnants of food for the night as they closed. As he put things away he thought about how, at least, Franky’s attitude was cool. He was willing to learn and he didn’t get pissy when Sanji corrected him on anything. The problem was simply getting Franky to accomplish what Sanji wanted him to without mistakes.

After Sanji checked off everything on his to-do list, he placed both of his palms on the counter, letting out a deep sigh as he thought about the days to come.

“That was a nasty sigh.” 

This time around Sanji only flinched, and then he had to gather up strength to even turn around, glaring at the man leaning against the wall. 

“What’s with you and showing up to the kitchen unannounced?” Sanji questioned, “Can’t believe I have to see you twice in a day.”

“Get used to it,” he retorted, and then stepped forward. “I have business here.” 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” 

When he uncrossed his arms Sanji spotted something in his hold. A moment later, said object was being thrown his way, and Sanji fumbled with it in the air before he securely grabbed it. From the feel of it, the guy had the nerve to throw a glass jar at him. 

Sanji looked at it before saying anything, and then he felt a mixture of confusion and shock and a bit of gratefulness when he realized it was miso paste. 

“I know someone who makes it,” Zoro stated, “So you can test it out to see if it’ll work.” 

The swordsman turned to leave, his goal clearly accomplished before Sanji could even utter a word. 

“Eh? But don’t you—“ Sanji stopped himself from asking Zoro if he was going to try it himself, but it was too late to go unnoticed because Zoro had already glanced back at him. 

“What?” 

“No... nothing. Uh, thanks.” 

“Uhuh.”

And that was it. Sanji was once again alone in the kitchen, and he figured that even if he wanted to try out the recipe right now, his muscles and bones wouldn’t even allow him. He needed sleep before anything else. 

He decided to try it out tomorrow morning at his place, because he didn’t have to be at the restaurant early. 

The blond glanced at the jar of miso paste and could feel a tangled web of thoughts invade his mind about when, how, and why, but he quickly pushed it to the back. He’d think about it all later, when he actually had the energy to.

When it was nearing 1 a.m., he finally checked everything once more before heading out, bundling himself up before leaving out of the side doors. 

“Jesus christ,” Sanji said when a full-body shiver hit him. He noted that the light usually illuminating the dim alleyway was out, and he stepped down the few stairs as he continued swearing to the cold weather. After taking a few steps he hugged his arms to his side, and in his discomfort he missed when the shadows started moving. 

Before he could even realize what was going on, his path to the parking lot was blocked off, and his gaze went from the concrete ground to the line of men in front of him. He then heard footsteps behind him, signifying his impossibility to escape the other way. 

He was surrounded.

“Oi, oi, isn’t this a little dangerous?” Sanji asked, but the people said nothing, just waiting as an almost drama-like entrance was made from behind him.

He turned to the noise of singular footsteps and saw a familiar face when he winced for a better look. It’d been a while, but he wouldn’t forget the name of a man who spit his cooking out. Mr. Thompson. 

“Sanji Black, am I correct?” the man questioned, and Sanji hesitated, but ended up just nodding. Thompson’s question dissipated any ideas that Sanji had about this being a casual mugging. It was almost like he was a target. 

The chef wondered what this was all about. Was the guy still hung up that he’d been humiliated by Zoro because of him? Was this going to be some hostage situation? He wasn’t even worthy enough to be a hostage at this point. 

“What do you want?” Sanji inquired, tense and ready to fight. He didn’t like how outnumbered he was, but once more, he didn’t give a shit about numbers when fighting. 

“Oh, don’t be alarmed. I’m not here to beat you up or the like,” Thompson began explaining, “I just have a simple proposition for you.” 

Sanji’s fists clenched, because he didn’t appreciate being surrounded by a dozen men just for a proposition. 

“What is this proposition?” 

Mr. Thompson smirked, and the act only made Sanji feel more agitated. He wanted to wipe that look off the man’s face, but any thoughts of doing so were cut off when the fool spoke again. 

“We’ve been observing you lately—“

”I’ve noticed.” 

“—It’s come to my attention that you’re perfect for this.”

“Just get on with it,” Sanji spat, feeling antsy because for some reason, he felt like this couldn’t be good at all. 

Of course, nothing relating to the mafia was good, but Sanji had a feeling this was extra, extra not good.

“I want you to kill Roronoa.” 

The blond’s eyes widened, and he waited for a moment to hear that this was a joke—that he’d just been pranked by Zoro himself. Or maybe this was some loyalty test. 

But there was no way. Last he’d seen, Thompson wasn’t even apart of the circle Zoro had, and his motive for killing Zoro was undeniably there. For more power, or for payback, whichever one it could have been.

A gust of wind sent cold air all around, and Sanji’s arms reflexively tightened on himself, the outline of the miso paste jar becoming more apparent in the crook of his arm. 

Out of all bullshit he could’ve been given, he’d just been given a hit on Zoro.

He could now call this day The Worst Day Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that!!!  
> It just got spicy huh, hehehe  
> So what’s Sanji gonna do? What’s gonna happen to him? Hmmmmmmmmmm... 
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed that, and thanks for reading! Leave a comment, mwah


	6. No Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji's got some thoughts on his mind the whole day, and miso soup tastes good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I never thought I’d be that type to update once every three months but it somehow happened

_ “IF YOU LISTEN to my request and do as I ask, you will be rewarded greatly.”  _

Sanji's eyebrows furrowed, pressing the rough side of the sponge to the pot and scrubbing hard, ridding the material of the leftover stains. 

_ “We know you hate Roronoa as much as we do.”  _

He dropped the sponge, turning on the tap and letting water wash away the soap suds on the side, creating a cloudy mixture. 

Sanji figured that he'd been getting spied on. Maybe from day one. Some goons probably ate at the restaurant daily to keep tabs on Zoro's base, and they'd seen him fighting with Zoro every time they interacted on the floor. Because of those idiotic fights, he was now supposedly "the number one candidate for Zoro's murder". 

_ "Considering the fact that you have a job where you can get very close to him, and you don't seem to have much loyalty to him, it'd be easy for you to get rid of him, am I right?" _

Sanji snorted. 

_Easy_.

It'd been roughly twelve hours since that moment, as it was now nearing 2 p.m. and his shift in the kitchen was not even halfway completed. He'd felt distracted this whole day, by the words repeating in his mind and the little vial in his front pant pocket. He was given the task to poison Zoro's food with the mixture of toxins in his possession, and if he was being honest, it wasn't a hard job. According to Mr. Thompson, all he'd have to do was slip a couple of drops into the food Zoro was eating, and the effects would occur within the next 24 hours. It was particularly convenient because Zoro could eat anything else during that time. 

He'd been told that he wouldn't even lose his job, because the blame would be put onto one of Thompson's men.

"Sanji, please check the soup," Franky said, and Sanji snapped out of his thoughts, shutting off the tap water to head to the stoves. Using a spoon he tasted the broth and then nodded after letting it sit on his tongue for a moment, giving Franky the approval he needed to start dishing some out. The man wasn't nearly as much of a nightmare as he'd been yesterday, because he’d gotten over the introduction of tasks and was now in the practicing period. 

That day at the restaurant wasn’t very busy, so Sanji stepped out of the kitchen for a moment, looking out at the floor and observing the customers. He wondered how many of them were there for a good meal, and how many of them were spies for any one of the groups targeting Zoro. It made him a little upset—because, again, he was a prideful chef, and having people come and eat with a different goal was annoying. 

“How have you been, Sanji?” Nami suddenly questioned, and the blond nearly punched himself for forgetting to greet Nami just now. His mind was too occupied. 

“I’ve been great, _mademoiselle!_ And you?” 

“Hmm, I’ve been okay,” she revealed, wiping down a cup that’d been sitting for too long. “I want to take a few days off soon, but I’m not sure we have enough hands for that.” 

“I’ll take over the bar any day,” Sanji stated, but Nami shook her head. 

“You’ve already done that so many times—like when that cold was going around.” 

“It’s nothing for me.”

“Then maybe I’ll take up your offer.” 

At that moment someone sat down on the stools in front of Nami and her attention was taken away, the blond recognizing that the conversation was finished as well. He then decided to help a little at the front since there was not much going on in the kitchen, asking customers if they needed more water, taking away empty plates, tidying up whatever looked messy. 

All the while his mind was thinking about his encounter yesterday. 

Though the poison was in his possession at the moment, that didn’t mean that he’d accepted. 

He’d actually said nothing to Thompson. Merely took the vial when it’d been handed to him. 

That was because he liked to weigh the pros and cons before making a decision, and he hadn’t come to terms with what the better choice was yet. 

The pros were undoubtedly the rewards. He didn’t have any affiliation to any groups so there’d be nothing other than the rewards as pros. Thompson had mentioned fifty-thousand dollars, which was a crazy amount for the simple task he had to do. It would definitely be dirty money that he was receiving, but it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d come in contact with things like this. Zeff himself had been apart of shady businesses like this before his restaurant career, after all. He also guaranteed that Sanji would be protected by his group if they ended up overcoming Zoro’s, so that was a nice bonus. 

The cons, however... were— 

Sanji saw suspicious movement from the corner of his eye, and as he glanced back at the bar he saw that Nami was trying to pull her wrist out of the earlier stranger’s grasp over the counter, obviously uncomfortable.

He felt anger flare in him immediately, and he was moving over there before he could think about anything else. 

“Do we have a problem here?” he questioned, staring at the man’s offending hand before glaring at him. 

“What? She was the one seducing me,” the man slurred, obviously drunk. Sanji wanted to kick him already, for getting drunk after what seemed to be one drink, at 4 p.m. And he was the bad type of drunk, too. 

“I’m sorry sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding,” Nami tried, no doubt repeating in her mind _“the customer is always right”_ over and over again. She could beat him on the head faster than even Sanji could, so it was only her professionalism holding her back.

“A misunderstanding? You’re dressed in slutty clothes, and you’re telling me it’s a mistake?” 

“Yes, it was not my intention to give off the message that—“ 

“Any chick walking around with her boobs out is asking for it.” 

Nami’s shocked face was enough for Sanji to act, and the blond kicked him before he said anything else, watching in satisfaction as his grip on Nami released and he fell off his seat like a used napkin. 

The man was confused for a moment, and Sanji vaguely heard Nami say something about calming down before a fist was flying his way and he was dodging, sending another kick that was meant to immobilize the man. At this point he knew he’d garnered the attention of all the diners at the restaurant, and though there was a sane part of him that told him he should chill out and that Nami could deal with her own problems, the rest of him was fired up. 

Surprisingly, the pathetic bastard in front of him was standing once more, coming at him with an obvious intent to continue the fight. 

Sanji gave it to him, dodging whatever he needed to and dealing blows that were more to humiliate than anything else. There was no way that the man would even touch Sanji with his grimy hands, but the blond entertained him for another moment—until he felt an unavoidable presence behind him. 

“I’m sure you have a good reason to fight,” the newcomer started, and Sanji turned to see the person he was supposed to assassinate before this week ended. He’d seemed to come in from the front entrance and seen the commotion. In Sanji’s distraction he didn’t notice the cause of the ruckus coming for one last hit, only realizing when Zoro pulled at his sheathed sword, jabbing it somewhere behind Sanji as he finished his sentence. “But I thought you said you cared about publicity?” 

It was a clean hit to the man’s forehead, the chef noted, and then he shrugged. 

“If one of our staff are getting harassed, I’m going to step in whether or not I care about publicity.” 

Zoro glanced at the man groaning on the floor, currently holding hands up to the injury he’d just inflicted. He opened his mouth to say something, before the entire scene was interrupted. 

“Sanji!” Trafalgar yelled, and then in a hiss, “You’re causing a scene, you moron.” 

Sanji then felt a hand on the back of his head, and he was being pushed into the same bowing position that Law and Nami were taking. It reminded him of times with Zeff, and because he did think that he’d dragged on the fight more than necessary (though he was sure that customers already heard of the rumours that brawls started at this restaurant) he didn’t fight it.

“We’re sorry for the disturbance, everyone. Please, continue with your dinner as we deal with whatever problems have occurred. Take an extra 25% off, on us.” 

After they bowed in all directions, Sanji got dragged into the kitchen, a worried Nami following behind. 

“He was just defending me, Law,” Nami explained after they’d holed up in a storage room. 

“What do you have to say about that?” Law questioned Sanji, and the blond glanced over at Nami, who admittedly seemed more worried than needed (and thus, extra cute). 

“What the mademoiselle said—“ 

Law rolled his eyes. “Look. I’m sure the man deserved it, because even though you’re hot-headed you usually catch yourself in time. But, please, Sanji. No fighting, at least not physical.I know we’re a sketchy place because of all the background stuff, but we still need to keep up a front. As your boss I forbid you from starting fights, and I’ll have to punish you for this.”

The chef decided that there was really nothing he could argue about, considering everything Law said was reasonable in its own right. 

“Yes sir,” Sanji answered, and then Law patted him on the shoulder. “No fighting. I promise.” 

-

That day had ended without another incident at the restaurant. Luckily for Sanji, even though all the customers at the scene received 25% off (which probably came to a few hundred bucks lost from the restaurant), Law came to a conclusion that Sanji worked hard enough daily for him not to need to take it off his pay check, thus retracting his statement of giving him a punishment.

And afterwards, it’d just been reinforced by Law that there would be absolutely no fighting on the premise, the man even going so far as to make a mini speech in the kitchen after-hours. 

When that was all done and over with and everyone was gone, Sanji decided he needed a break. His break was to finally try out the miso paste he’d been given yesterday, since nothing made him more relaxed than experimenting on some dishes. He hadn’t had the opportunity earlier, because his overthinking led to him sleeping in and not having extra time to try out recipes in the morning. 

When the setup was finished and he took out the jar from the fridge, he was reminded of the person who’d given it to him, relating that thought to the object he  still  had in his pocket. Honestly it was a stupid move to carry it around with him, especially if he barely had plans to use it. 

“Barely”, because as he’d explained earlier, there were pros and cons. The cons, however, might’ve just outweighed the pros. 

He had many problems with assassinating Zoro. 

First and foremost, he didn’t want to become a murderer. He, of course, has had his fair share of violence working under the whack job known as Zeff, but never has he taken another person’s life. Secondly, he’d taken a liking to this place. He liked his coworkers, his boss, and the restaurant. Killing the owner felt like betrayal in itself, even if he wasn’t technically part of their gang. Finally... 

Sanji already noticed the presence at the entrance of the kitchen, letting out a very obvious and obnoxious sigh to signify that he wasn’t welcome.

“You’re that sad to see me, huh,” Zoro pointed out, almost as if he was making a joke, “Even after I let you off the hook earlier.”

“...You did...?” 

Zoro shrugged. “Anything I say has to be followed, including not letting you pay for what we lost today.” 

“What—I...” Sanji trailed off. He  _ had _ thought that it was weird that Law changed his mind. 

“I was the one who dealt the final blow,” was Zoro’s inadequate explanation. 

Sanji eventually rid himself of his stupor. “I won’t thank you, you know.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to. Let me eat your miso soup, though.” 

Sanji raised an eyebrow, watching as Zoro settled onto the stool like he did the first time they’d met in the a.m.’s. When he realized that he wasn’t going to say anything more he turned back to the mentioned soup, continuing with his cooking without responding. Not that he had to, since it was obvious he’d never deny anyone’s request for his food.

The kitchen was then enveloped in relative silence once more, leaving just the sounds of boiling water and the little clanks of Sanji’s utensils. He could feel the mosshead’s stare on him the entire time but he didn’t let it deter his actions, focused on making something worthy to be on the menu. It was nice. Calming. 

It also allowed Sanji’s thoughts to reboard the train they’d taken earlier.

The last—maybe insignificant—con that he had about the whole situation, was a problem revolving the actual person he’d be poisoning. 

The mosshead, currently sitting a few feet away. 

Sanji didn’t want to admit it but Zoro didn’t seem like satan on earth, as he’d thought the man was when he first met him. Of course, Sanji knew that his knowledge of Zoro’s personality was very limited. He had no idea what the man got up to when in mafia mode; how many people he’d killed, how many crimes he’d committed, whatever other human atrocities existed out there that he participated in. At the same time, he knew that Zoro didn’t cause unnecessary trouble (other than the annoyances that Sanji specifically picked out), and he valued food like Sanji did. He didn’t seem to find pleasure in drowning in whatever wealth he received from his backdoor activities, and he slept wherever and gave Sanji some authentic miso paste. The last two facts probably didn’t contribute anything to his objectively “good” scale, but it’d passed through Sanji’s mind anyway. 

His thoughts of course did not mean that he’d be saving Zoro’s life or taking his side any time soon. He just thought there was no worth to involving himself in this business when the target wasn’t some crazy psycho villain. 

Before Sanji knew it, the miso soup had been boiling just long enough for it to be at its peak flavour. The cook had no idea how he’d stood there and occasionally stirred for 15 minutes without noticing the time pass by, but the clock told him that exact thing had happened. 

He cut the heat and went to the cupboard he remembered held the small tasting bowls, taking one of them out as well as two medium bowls. 

Sanji put half a ladle into the tasting cup, blowing on the hot liquid for a moment before he tipped some of it into his mouth. He let it rest on his tongue for a moment, trying to determine if it was good enough. 

Zoro seemed to be attracted to this act, coming up behind Sanji moments later. When the swordsman—still partially behind Sanji—placed a hand onto the edge of the counter, leaning over Sanji’s shoulder to get into what was clearly the cook’s personal bubble, the latter on instinct turned so that he could let the man have a taste. Sanji only realized how weird it was when Zoro’s lips were on the bowl and he was already voluntarily tipping the ceramic. 

He was so used to having dumbasses at the Baratie nag him for a taste of food that it was like second nature that he did it, and when he realized, he had to stop himself from dropping the bowl in shock of his actions. 

Sanji noticed, up close, that the colour of Zoro’s eyelashes were black. 

Zoro leaned back without a word, a contemplative look on his face. “Tastes better.” 

Sanji blinked, and then he couldn’t hold back the snort he let out, unbelieving of the whole situation that just played out. Not only did he treat Zoro like one of the so-called dumbasses from Baratie—meaning he hand-fed him a sample of his cooking—he’d also received feedback coming from the guy who’d messed with him the last time. 

“That’s it?” Sanji questioned, “No other comments?” 

“It was warm.” 

The blond opened his mouth, and then instead of saying anything he just shook his head, turning back to set the bowl down. He was smirking to himself as he distributed the soup between the two other bowls, moving to set them both on the island. 

Another stool was pulled up and spoons were slid into the bowls, the squawk of chair legs against the floor signalling the start of a late night meal.

“You better form a full opinion once you finish that bowl.” 

“I already gave you my full opinion.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Want me to repeat it?”

“Shut up and eat the damn soup.”

The weight of the vial in his pocket was nearly unnoticeable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who’s still here chillin, thanks for reading! I know it’s been a damn long time since I’ve updated this so I accept all bullying in the comments. Anyway, this is just another chapter. Very fitting with the other ones, it’s got Sanji making some miso soup, Zoro being OBLIVIOUS THAT HE JUST DID SOMETHING INCREDIBLY DOMESTIC WHEN HE LEANED IN TO GET A TASTE *cough* sorry I’ll stop screaming about my own book. (Zoro will be getting a taste of something ELSE soon).  
> Don’t worry guys, next chapter is a lot more hype. Is that spoilers? Idk. But it’s hype.  
> Hope you’ve had a great three months, and I’ll see you in three months! Jk probably less, I have a bit of time rn


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